《Downtown》（“下城”）写于2020年初，背景是纽约。一年半过去了，世界仍然在抗疫之中，令人叹息... 。
Downtown
By Ken Fan
There’s no good season in Downtown,
Either too hot or too cold,
No matter what dark suit is put on.
November starts miserably,
The wind summons up its capricious temper,
Directionless and bitter,
And nights become dreary and long.
Men flow out of train stations，
Like black ants from underneath a dead tree.
Faces are half-covered by upright collars,
With WS Journals sticking out of their arms.
Some young fellows, hair permed,
Are yelling into their cellphones, While crossing Broad Street like flying darts.
Seven thirty sharp,
Pink-faced boss is on the top wire:
"There’ll be tons of bad stuff this morning,
Asia'n Europe collapsed overnight.
Each of you got only ten-minute break,
Before buckling up your ass,
And ready for the ride!"
Murphy's Pub is for evening chill-out.
"Easy, folks!"
Even the cheerful Mr. Murphy has to shout.
Some come to brag,
Some come to cry,
A young lady is trying to fit in too hard.
Three years ago,
She might still have a pony tail,
And recite Desdemona at Yale.
Now sweating in strange perfume,
She utters, for every minute, an expletive aloud.
Damn, this place has been so plagued,
Way before the real plague surfaces.
Deadly virus must've drenched every inch
Of those cobble stone alleys,
And clutched every frame
Of those dizzy glass edifices.
Oh Mephisto, no need to announce,
It is here!
The inferno is broken loose,
All is grounded to a halt.
Finally I get to stand by the window,
With me only, is a bewildered cat on the sill.
Over across the river,
Weird, eerie and familiar.
I may have just heard
coughs and moans from a neighbor,
Could be the same guy,
Who was clinking Heineken the night before,
A testimony of yesterday's carefreeness,
And a punished spring and summer.
Fair angels are never seen again,
Since long ago left.
Agonizing,
appreciating,
contemplating,
Let our stupefied minds drift.
Good morning,
good afternoon,
good evening,
Allow time to fly swift...
Alas,
What a “terrible beauty” there it is...
换一换
